Four figures huddle close
Beneath the squinting eye
Of a white, waning moon

“I’m a girl with no past”
One figure whispers with
A voice rough as pavement

And a girl with long sleeves
In the warm, summer night
A girl with wildfire hair

Says: “You can borrow mine,
If you’d like,” with a smile
Straight from an asylum

A heart faced young woman
With a trembling voice
Cries: “No, take mine instead!”

“It’s old and stretched out thin
With a few little stains
But it should fit you fine.”

“Yours is nothing but stains”
Sneers a girl with hard eyes
Like two frozen clovers

“Try mine. It comes complete
With baby and father
Dutiful as they come”

“And not a lick of love
Between the three of you”
Purrs the girl with long sleeves

A demented smile carved
Bloodlessly in her face
Her laughter thick as pus

“I think,” an asphalt voice
Says to six pleading eyes
“I’m best off with no past.”

Nervous hands tug at sleeves
Frozen eyes grow colder
A heart face shutters closed

Silence falls, thick as snow
And four figures part ways
Beneath a waning moon